Madame Hooch And The Girl With Yellow Eyes
by Polgaria
Summary: Madame Padraigin Hooch has been keeping secrets, but when a girl with uncannily hawklike eyes appears at Hogwarts- those secrets are doomed to come undone. AU Padraigin is pronounced (PAH-dra-geen) Please R&R, love Pol ^^
1. Many Reflections

Author's Note:   Okay you guys- I'm fairly confident that a lot of speculation over Madame Hooch's actual first name has gone on. I've looked through the books and am every so slightly ashamed to admit that I can't find it, whatever it may be. I'm going to make up my own, for the time being, but if anyone knows the actual first name of Madame Hooch- praise dirt- tell me, and I'll fix my little over-ride immediately.

**~*~*~Disclaimer~*~*~**

**Harry Potter is J.K. Rowling's, and not mine. Boo Hoo. **

Chapter 1

            Madame Padraigin Hooch was a woman of great strength of character- one had to be to be a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry- and she was certainly seen by every student at Hogwarts as a steadfast individual who was stern and abrupt, but ready to revert to a softer side when the occasion arose. For instance, we'll say, every time Neville Longbottom had fallen off of his broom, Madame Hooch quickly relented into a maternal creature who fussed and fretted with ferocity to rival Molly Weasely. However, Neville was improving, and the students rarely saw the softer side of the solid rock that most believed Madame Hooch to be. Consequently, Padraigin Hooch was an intimidating figure, and one that frightened considerably nearly every first year student she came across.

            Even her colleagues at Hogwarts believed her to be a tad stodgy. Padraigin Hooch wondered- not for the first time- if perhaps everyone was right. Maybe she really was just as crusty and impervious as 'they' all thought. Or maybe, just maybe- her life experiences had moulded her into something much different than who she really was, who she was supposed to have been.

            Hooch's life had not been unpleasant- up until a point- and her childhood was a happy time, one filled with boundless giggles, wild and reckless stunts, and hours upon hours spent perched astride a broomstick high above the rest of the mundane world, tiny hands clamped firmly about the smooth wood of the old _'sweep 500_.

            Then, her days at Hogwarts came, filled with friends, studies and most importantly- Quidditch.  Padraigin Hooch was 'the' Quidditch player of Ravenclaw in all her years at Hogwarts. Though the sport was dominated by boys at that time of most backwards ideals, Hooch could- and did- blend in and become one of them.  Her hair was kept short, her body was firm and slender, and Padraigin Hooch never thought herself beautiful, and so saw no need in trying to act reformed and ladylike. But, Padraigin was no mindless jock, either. Oh no- young Madame Hooch was an avid student, excelling in most areas save only the art of Transfiguration. _Damn that Minny McGonagall_, thought Hooch to herself. Minny, of course, being Minerva McGonagall, who was prim, proper, and entirely too ladylike for Hooch.

            And so, when Hooch graduated from Hogwarts she did not pursue a career in Quidditch. Seventeen-year-old Hooch wanted to work at the Ministry as an Auror. Her NEWTs had all been graded "Exceeds Expectations," even Transfiguration, which Padraigin had nearly killed herself studying for night and day. While waiting for her application for the aptitude examinations to be run through the system, Padraigin resided in a small magical district near the ministry, a place called Talley Alley. Now, don't let the seemingly innocuous name fool you- just because the name rhymes, doesn't mean it's a place of renowned peace and quiet, like a small tea shop on a corner. Rowdy parties raged late into the night and hooliganing was always considered a highpoint in the evening entertainment. But, Hooch sucked it up commendably. Besides, her flat was nice enough, and once one put a small _racketus represso_ charm on the surrounding walls, the place was soundproof enough.

            Work, such as it was, happened in a small book and stationary store named "Polly's Parchments." Polly was a stout witch of innumerable years who was overly fond of dust and clutter. Padraigin didn't really mind the woman, and the job paid the rent for the flat. 

            Several months passed, and not a word from the Ministry came. Hooch thought begrudgingly that yes, the systems of the Ministry were certainly constipated with incompetence, but for Merlin's sake, five months was verging on ridiculous. And so, instead of wasting even more time sitting around with parchment and musty books up to her eyebrows, she marched down to the Ministry of Magic to see what the hold-up was.

            She was of course, an exemplary young woman with impressive credentials and a strong work ethic- what could possibly be keeping those stuffy old men on the board from signing her application and getting her started on the aptitude tests?

            Padraigin Hooch strode up to the desk with purpose and was greeted by a simpering witch who appeared to be a very old woman who was trying to look very young. 

            "May I help you?" she asked in a whining sort of voice. Padraigin tried very hard not to cringe at the offensive sound. The woman sounded like a congested insect. 

            "Yes, you may. I've sent in an application for the Auror aptitude tests nearly six months ago and as of yet have still received no response from the Ministry." Hooch drew herself up imposingly. She was, after all, fairly tall. 

            The simpering witch smiled mirthlessly. "At this time," she decreed, "the Ministry is no longer accepting any applications for female Aurors."

"_What!" _ Hooch exclaimed in barely contained rage. This was not what she had been expecting, not at all. 

"At this time," the witch repeated a little more slowly, "the Min-"

"I heard you, you- you-" she restricted herself from calling the witch a very dirty name, "oh never mind!" Padraigin could see that she clearly was not getting anywhere. "This is absurd. I demand to know who exactly decided this!"

"Why," smiled the witch sweetly, "the Minister himself, of course." She said it as though _anyone_ who was _someone_ should know this fact. 

"Of _course_," agreed Hooch acidly. "I'd like an interview with the Minister."

The witch made some show of leafing through appointment books, hemming and hawing loudly. Padraigin Hooch waited as patiently as she could- but after several minutes it was all she could do not to reach over the counter and grab the idiot witch by the flowery scarf that hung limply around her neck. 

"Well?" said Padraigin, her fierce yellow eyes narrowing expectantly. 

"Three months."

Padraigin had had quite enough of that. "Three months my foot," she said as she walked strait past the witches desk and briskly entered the Minister's office. The Minister, at the time, was a paunchy man with a balding head and grotesquely coloured robes. His name was Puttringer- Horatio Puttringer. 

At the time that Padraigin Hooch entered the Minister's office, Puttringer was busily watching a pair of charmed Quidditch figurines having a go at one another on his cluttered desk, enthusiastically punching the air and muttering things like, 'get 'im!' and 'left hook, left hook!'

"Excuse me," said Hooch. The Minister didn't answer her. Apparently, he hadn't heard her over his own vehement cheers and the minute voices of the sparring figurines on which his attention was so intently focused. Hooch then coughed rather loudly. 

The Minister looked up. "Hmm?"

"My name is Padraigin Hooch- I'm here to speak with you about my application to be tested for Auror-aptitude."

"A, yes, well- I'm sorry my dear but the Ministry is not accepting female applicants at this time." Puttringer removed the still fighting figurines from his desk and placed them inside his drawer, where they continued to yell at each other in their tiny voices. 

"So I've heard. May I ask why?" Hooch seated herself in a cushy chair that was placed in front of the Minister's desk. 

"Well, as you know, Voldemort's been stirring up followers again and the Ministry believes that it could turn into and all out rebellion. So, I've decided that it would be unwise to allow any more female Aurors into the force until we can be sure that Voldemort isn't going to be causing too much trouble."

            Now, before anyone gets their cloaks in a knot, Voldemort was so powerless at this time that his feared title of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still a long time in coming. Still, Albus Dumbledore, the High Mugwump and Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts believed that his old student, Tom Riddle was powerful, and one day would unleash horrors upon them all. And what Dumbldore said, everyone else believed. 

"That's ridiculous," stated Hooch bluntly. "I'm just as capable as any wizard you've got and I've the credentials to prove it."

"I'm sure you're quite capable my dear, it's just the question of- ah- whether of not you'd be able to handle the- uh- stresses of the work right now. The Ministry does not want to be caught with any unnecessary blood on it's hands."

"Bollocks!" said Padraigin angrily. "This is just another excuse for you to rid the Ministry of capable, working witches! Ever since Alexander Toggsworth retired and you've taken over as Minister, witches have been dropping out of the ministry like Cornish pixies!"

            "I say- uh- Padrastein, was it?" the Minister muttered confusedly. 

            "Padraigin!" Hooch corrected angrily. 

            "Padraigin- I'm terribly sorry that you feel the Ministry is discriminating witches, but-"

            Padraigin had been expecting this. "But nothing, _sir,_" she said, putting a little extra edge onto her voice. "I've worked myself to death just trying to get the NEWTs to qualify for this job and I'm not going to be stopped by some stodgy old man that has nothing better to do all day than watch Quidditch figurines punching each other in the nose!"

            Puttringer blinked. "You're not going to take this to the Magical Court, are you?"

            "If I have to," Padraigin replied loftily. 

The minister began to look very worried. If this young woman took the matter to court, something that the higher council of wizards had been overlooking for a time due to more pressing matters might come into the open- namely, Horatio Puttringer's very sexist view on who should be working in the Ministry of Magic, and who should not. 

            "What did you say your last name was?" asked the Minister as he began rifling through the paperwork on his desk, looking for her application. 

            "Hooch," replied Padraigin. She'd won. 

Several months later, after gruelling aptitude tests that seemed to stretch out ahead of her forever, Padraigin Hooch was finally in training. 

By the time she was twenty five years old, Padraigin Hooch was a fully fledged Auror- and a damned good one at that. So much for Puttringer.

            Hooch was in a very close circle of Aurors deemed by the Ministry "The Dána Five," for short, the Dánas. Among the circle was Hooch, one other witch and three wizards. The witch was an older woman that had been an Auror for years. Of the three wizards, two were as old as the witch, but the other was a young man, just a bit older than Padraigin herself (This is beginning to sound like a rather difficult math problem, isn't it). His name was Diarmaid Flannery. He had black, curly hair and roguish blue eyes. Padraigin, being the tomboy that she was had never really had a boyfriend before- but when she set eyes on Diarmaid- well, lets suffice it to say that she figured out what boyfriends were all about, and she did it quickly. Within the month, Padraigin Hooch became Padraigin Flannery. 

It was a joyous time, marred only by Voldemort's growing power. 

            Then, as though everything good somehow called for an equal balance of bad, Voldemort struck. Seventeen Aurors dead. Among them, Diarmaid. Totally overcome with shock and grief, Padraigin returned to her childhood home to live with her parents until she could get back on her feet and deal with her grief so that she was at least stable enough to take care of herself. That, I'm afraid, took quite a bit longer than anyone expected. 

Padraigin was pregnant.

Unable to overcome her grief and guilt of survival, Padraigin Hooch could not hope to look after a child. No matter how much she loved it, or how much she wanted it- the best thing for the baby would be to give it up immediately to a nice wizarding family who wanted to adopt. And that was what she did. A baby boy, named for his father, was born on the first of August. Baby Diarmaid was given straight away to a family by the name of Chancy. Padraigin Hooch never saw her son again. 

At the age of twenty eight, Padraigin Hooch went to work at Hogwarts as Quidditch and Flight instructor, and has been there ever since. 

Her son, Diarmaid, never went to Hogwarts. He was instead sent to Beauxbatons after his adoptive parents had received a rather plaintive letter from Dumbledore, stating that since Madame Hooch was now a teacher there, hadn't they better send Diarmaid to a different school? This was all, of course, at the pleading request of Madame Hooch who had, upon hearing the news that her son was approaching his eleventh birthday, gone into a fit of total hysterics. Now, some twenty five odd years later, Hooch was a fifty five year old teacher at Hogwarts, whom everyone misunderstood entirely. She didn't mean to be abrupt and withdrawn, she realized as she contemplated her life- it was something that had come up on her suddenly and without warning. Had her beloved Diarmaid Flannery not died and left her widowed, what kind of woman would she have been today? Would she still have been and Auror, or would she have moved on to teaching? Would she even be alive?

These thoughts plagued Padraigin Hooch as she readied herself for bed that night, studying her reflection in the mirror briefly. Her spiked hair was, if not feminine, very practical and her tipped up little nose was very disdainful. Her piercing, amber eyes softened as she reached up to touch her hair. A sob escaped the woman's throat and carried down the halls of the recessive old castle. 

Somewhere, Minerva McGonagall looked up from her knitting, hearing a most disturbing sound. "Must've been Peeves," she said to herself as her enchanted knitting needles flashed and clicked in front of her bespectacled eyes.     


	2. Fizzing Wizbees, Among Other Fizzing Thi...

Chapter 2

            After several days of feeling positively sorry for herself, Madame Hooch firmly rebuilt her barrier and once again was the hard woman that everyone thought she was. But, this was not before she spent endless hours in speculation over her son, wondering if he had gotten married- what he was doing now- did he have children of his own? This only set off another more painful train of thought. What if Diarmaid did have children of his own? Would they be wizarding, would they come to Hogwarts? Were they already here? 

Finally, it was too much for Madame Hooch to deal with, and that's when the wall went back up, and very quickly I might add. 

            Several months later, after yet another Voldemort fiasco with Harry Potter had ended- what had it been this time? Oh yes, the Chamber of Secrets- Padraigin received a rather vague summon from Dumbledore. As Hooch marched towards the dragon statue that would admit her to his office when given the password "Fizzing Wizbees" she wondered exactly what the problem was. Her cape swirled around her legs and her high riding boots clicked on the stone floor as she walked purposefully towards the statue. 

            "Fizzing Wizbees."

            Moments later, Madame Hooch reached the top of the tower and now knocked on the heavily engraved door to Dumbledore's office.

            "Do come in Padraigin," came the soft, kindly voice. 

Madame Hooch entered into the lushly furnished- not to mention eclectically cluttered- headmaster's office and approached the desk, a little stiffly. 

            "You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" she stated tonelessly. Albus at once decided that his task would take an indefinable amount of kindness. 

            "Please, sit down, sit down," he said as he gestured to an extravagant arm chair near to the fireplace. The hearth housed a merrily crackling fire and Madame Hooch stared blankly into it. Somehow, she felt Dumbledore was hedging around some unpleasant topic, and she was not in the least interested in discussing whatever it was. 

            "Albus- if this is just a social call, could it possibly wait until the morning?" asked Padraigin hopefully.  "I'm exhausted and I'd love to go have a wee kip."

            The headmaster eyed her carefully, finally deciding something. "Could I get you anything- tea? Pumpkin juice? Mulled mead?" 

            Realising that she was not going to get out of the headmaster's office anytime soon, Padraigin reckoned that a drink would not hurt. "The mead, if it's no trouble Albus," she replied as she crossed one leg over the other and placed a weary hand to her forehead. 

            "Ah yes- good choice, good choice," said Albus as he waved his wand and two mulled mead appeared on his desk in large, steaming mugs. He handed one to Madame Hooch and then sat in the chair opposite her, examining the liquid in his mug rather slowly.

            "Albus- what is this about?" Hooch narrowed her hawk-like eyes and gazed pointedly at the aging man. "I'm fifty-six years old, and you needn't treat me like a child."

            Albus smiled, somewhat sadly, thought Padraigin to herself. "You are aware that your son has become an Auror?"

            Padraigin choked on her mead and dropped the steaming mug, where it bounced harmlessly enough on a moth-eaten rug. 

            "_Scourgify_," he murmured as he absently pointed his wand at the spreading puddle of mead. Padraigin Hooch continued to choke rather wretchedly on her mead and still doing so when Dumbledore came around the back of her chair and gave her a hearty pat on the back. "There, there," he said softly, continuing to pat the woman on the back until her coughing fit subsided. 

            "Albus- _why _ are you telling me this?" she said in a tortured voice. "The day I gave Diarmaid up was the day I forfeited any right to know what he was doing with his life- _oh no_- he isn't- he's not-" Padraigin felt a lump forming in her throat.

            "Good heavens no, Padraigin," reassured Dumbledore, hearing the unasked question, "he's still alive."

            Padraigin blinked back tears that blurred her vision, and tried to resurrect her long dead composure. "Then _what?_ For heaven's sakes Albus- you've nearly given me a heart attack already. Drop this charade and make your point!"

            "Ah- my point, my point," murmured Albus a little forlornly as he once again took his seat across from Madame Hooch and steepled his long fingers peremptorily, gazing over his spectacles candidly. "Well Padraigin, you leave me no choice, asking me like that. I'll simply have to tell you-"

            "_Do_ get on with it. I'm an aging woman and my heart can't _take_ this." But it wasn't her heart that worried Padraigin- it was the simple fact that she was going to cry- like it or not- and she was _not_ going to be doing it in Albus' office. 

            "You're son has married, and his wife expressed a wish for their daughter to attend Hogwarts-"

            "He's- he's married?" stuttered Padraigin. "Of course he's married, how silly of me to think- the way his father looked when I first met him- yes, yes, of course he's married-"

            Dumbledore paid no heed to her ramblings and instead, carried on as though she hadn't interrupted him. "Their daughter, your granddaughter, will be coming to Hogwarts this coming school-year and-"

            "This year?" said Padraigin weakly, feeling all of the blood leave her face and pool somewhere in her stomach where it proceeded to turn itself into a very heavy rock. "It's- it's too soon- I can't- she _can't_ come here!"

            "Ah, but Padraigin," countered Dumbledore calmly, "she _will_ attend Hogwarts this year. I cannot allow your feelings to sway me in this matter. It was a much different case when it involved your son, and I was willing to turn him away- his foster parents of course understood why he could not attend here, but you've had twenty five years Padraigin- a quarter of a century to deal with your grief and alas, I cannot, in good conscience, turn away a student from this school because you are not ready for her to be here." 

            Madame Hooch pursed her lips into nearly invisible lines, transforming her expression into an even fiercer mask than usual. Really, the woman was trying to stop her traitorous lips from quivering as they so wanted to do, betraying her one and only weakness. 

            "If that's all, Headmaster?" she said through tightly clenched teeth. 

            Dumbledore sighed. "It is, Padraigin," he said gently. "Goodnight."

Padraigin stood quickly and fled the room, her long cloak flapping out behind her. 

Dumbledore sighed a rather said sort of sigh and seated himself once more in front of the fireplace, staring mysteriously into the glowing flames that licked rebelliously at the grate. 

            "I am sorry, dear Padraigin, but you cannot run this time."

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Padraigin, however, had of course not heard Dumbledore's cryptic apology. She was already rounding a corner that would lead her to the hallway where her chambers were, biting down on her lip acutely to hold her sobs until she was entirely alone. Finally, she stalked through the door of her chambers and slammed it so hard that the clutter shelves rattled ominously. Sadly- they contents of the shelves were in for more than a little jiggling. Madame Hooch picked up a large glass vase that contained one lavender flower and hurled it-unforgiving- into the wall. 

As the glass impacted the stone and shattered, the first whimper of impending hysterics escaped Padraigin's thin and trembling lips, as brokenly as the glass that showered like icy rain upon the stone. Those diamond like shards were taunting, as though the unbreakable diamond that was Padraigin Hooch had finally and irreparably shattered. 

Following the vase were frames of pictures of the people most special to her- her parents, her sister- but none of Diarmaid- neither the son, nor the father.  The shelf was for the living so damn the bloody dead! Madame Hooch sobbed openly now, hot tears spilling down her sparsely wrinkled cheeks. 

The sound of shattering glass was somehow unsatisfactory now. She tried screaming. It was, if not practical, certainly very loud. 

            "I bloody h-hate you D-diarmaid..." she sobbed as she branded her wand and started setting fire to things.  "-left me hear alone.." the flames licked angrily at the heavy curtains, "-old and h-horrible..." the fired spread to the bureau and the stacks of paper there blurred into flame. "I HATE YOU!" A pot of purple ink set fire, bubbling angrily until it exploded in a shower of green flames that hissed in an accusatory fashion.  Then, the window shatter, blowing it's glass and wooden frame down through the stone opening and onto the grounds below, only to land upon a very unsuspecting- and now very angry- Professor Snape. 

            "What the _devil..."  he growled as he looked up to see smoke billowing out of one of the higher tower...what had been a window..._

He charged into the school and up the stairs, collecting Minerva McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey along the way.  The students outside were still gazing somewhat fearfully up a the window, rather what was left it, and how it kept spewing flames and all manner of interesting things out of it. 

When the three reached the door, another jarring explosion rattled it and a screaming sob wrenched through the air. 

"I bloody _fucking h-hate you!"_

            "Padraigin?" Snape said, as he looked imploringly to Minerva, who in turn looked to Madame Pomfrey. 

            The fussy little nurse looked back, "Now what do you suppose?"

            Minerva put a hand to her mouth. "I don't have the foggiest idea what could have prompted this..."

Suddenly, the three stopped speculating as a rather comparative, and therefore so the much more startling silence descended. 

            "Padraigin?" said Minerva as she knocked rather meekly on the door, half-expecting another explosion that would blow the door off of it's ancient hinges and right into her face. When she received no answer, Minerva rather tentatively tried to open the door. It swung open freely, and indeed, as McGonagall had portended the door fell rather dramatically to the floor in a cloud of ashes and dust. 

Minerva immediately assessed the situation. Madame Hooch looked indeed pathetic as she knelt in the middle of the denouement of her making, stifling her whimpers with a shaking hand- but more important were the flames that threatened the lives of everyone in the room. Minerva set immediately to extinguishing the fires- as did Snape- who was really rather uncomfortable to be in the same room as the sobbing woman all of them had believed to be so strong. 

Madame Pomfrey, on the other hand, was carefully approaching Madame Hooch. She knelt in front of the obviously distraught woman, heedless of her pristine white uniform and the charred remains of the carpet on which she was about to kneel. 

            "Padraigin..." she murmured softly as she leaned closer to Madame Hooch and placed a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. This caused the flight instructor to look up into the face of the worried school nurse. Madame Pomfrey gasped softly. Padraigin looked- broken...somehow. The hawk-like golden eyes looked glassy and strangely dull, despite the tears that coursed out of them and onto her pale and trembling lips. The only colour in her face was due to the slow flush that rose up into Madame Hooch's cheeks. 

Madame Pomfrey realized that Padraigin was totally ashamed of herself- and that's when at least one of the teachers of Hogwarts decided to reassess her perception of Padraigin Hooch- that was, of course, after she had fixed her, however. 

            "Padraigin, dear, come here," she said as she opened her arms. Padraigin closed her eyes and slowly, very slowly, allowed herself to lean into the comforting embrace of one Madame Pomfrey, who wrapped her arms tightly around Hooch and stroked her heaving back slowly. Padraigin was trying with all of her remaining power to keep her sobs inside where they belonged, according to her anyway.

            "It's alright, dear- give us a good cry, I don't mind," said Pomfrey in a gentle sort of way. Padraigin let out a deep, shuddering breath and began to sob in earnest- long, drawn out wails of agony, all in release.

Snape, who had finished setting the rooms to rights was even more disturbed by the painful wails. He looked to Minerva inquiringly. "If that's all then, Minerva?" he said rather hopefully. Minerva started at the tone of his voice, which was usually hopelessly sadistic. If Minerva didn't know any better, she might have thought Snape was going soft on all of them. 

            "Yes- thank you Serverus," said McGonagall as she took a step closer to him in confidence. "You might just have saved her life, you know," she whispered in hushed tones. "Merlin only knows what could have happened if we hadn't come, what with the fire."

Snape nodded stiffly and then left, likely to go and torture some poor first years for walking outside instead of doing something more productive- even though the end of the year exams had been cancelled because of the Chamber of Secrets fiasco and near death of Ginny Weasely. 

McGonagall turned to look with scrutiny at the sobbing woman held securely in Madame Pomfrey's arms. The nurse was still making very soothing noises and rocking Padraigin slightly. Truthfully, Minerva had never really taken to Hooch well. Since their school days they'd been rivals and even though it was juvenile, Minerva rather suspected that that was why she'd never embraced Hooch more fully as a fellow educator and witch. Minerva sighed and then knelt down beside Madame Pomfrey. 

            "I'm here as well, Padraigin," was all she said, but for Madame Hooch, it was quite enough. She took Minerva's offered hand and clasped it tightly. Minerva smiled. 

            So did Madame Pomfrey. _Well finally!_ she thought to herself. Then, as she sensed Padraigin's sobs slowing she said, "Can you tell us what's the matter, dear? It might make you feel better."

Padraigin sniffled softly and took a hiccupping  sort of breath. "M-my son," she said quaveringly, "Diarmaid- dead and my son, he's not really mine, mind," a new sob choked off her sentence. 

Minerva and Pomfrey looked at each other as if to say 'what's she on about?'

            Hooch took another breath. "His daughter is coming here- my grand- g-grand..." she hiccupped, "_GRANDDAUGHTER!"_ she wailed. 

Minerva thought that Hooch must really be losing her mind- she didn't have a son- as far as McGonagall knew, Padraigin wasn't even married. 

            "Shh, shh," soothed Pomfrey. "Don't get all in a tizzy again dear. You can tell us all about it tomorrow, alright?"

Padraigin nodded into the woman's shoulder and sighed in obvious relief. "I'm m-making such an idiot of myself," she denounced tearfully. 

"No dear, you're not," clucked Madame Pomfrey disapprovingly. "Now, why don't you let Minerva and I take you up to the hospital wing- you can't stay here- and we'll get you settled in bed with a nice cup of tea?" Madame Pomfrey gave Padraigin a last reassuring squeeze and then removed her arms from around Hooch. 

Then, the three left the room and slowly made their way to the top floor of Hogwarts, with Padraigin sandwiched safely between McGonagall and Pomfrey. The trio only passed a few students, all of whom shot worried glances at Madame Hooch before scampering off. One first year, Madame Hooch recognized her as a particularly talented flyer, even stopped. 

            "Aren't you feeling well, Madame Hooch?" she asked in a timid, though obviously concerned voice. 

            "I've been better, dear, but I'll be alright I think- Karigan, was it?"

            "Yes ma'am, Karigan Belclarith."

Madame Hooch nodded awkwardly. Karigan, on the other hand smiled. "I hope you feel better really soon Madame Hooch," she offered shyly. 

Madame Hooch surprised everyone by giving Karigan a rather Cheshire-ish grin that lit her face and eyes. 

Karigan giggled and then leaped forth and delivered to Madame Hooch a very quick, but very powerful hug. She then scampered away, still giggling in silvery peals that rang brightly down the hallway.

McGonagall chortled. "Looks like you've gone and ruined your formidable reputation!"

Hooch looked pointedly at Minerva. "Oh shut up, Minny," she said, but she was laughing, too. 


	3. Seeing Double

After Hooch's rather momentous breakdown, McGonagall and Pomfrey finally found out the story behind the woman's hysterical ranting from the night before. Madame Hooch had bravely relayed the entire tale, managing only with moderate difficulty to keep herself under control. 

Pomfrey was please that Padraigin's eyes were back to their usual glittering selves. The deadened expression that had occupied them last night   was not something Madame Pomfrey ever wanted to see again. 

Through the summer, Madame Hooch- who had remained at Hogwarts- deepened her friendship with Minerva McGonagall, and of course, the bustling little witch Madame Pomfrey was never far behind. It seemed to Padraigin that she was catching up only now for all of her school years at Hogwarts when she'd ignored and even scorned the other girls. 

They acted like children again- flying around on broomsticks and staying up late at night to explore secret passageways and raid the school kitchen. 

If the students at Hogwarts could have only seen the three of the more formidable witches in the school carrying on like children the entire summer, most of them would have likely gone into collective apoplexy from the shock of it all. I mean- if you saw _your _ teachers running across the grounds in colourful summer robes- much less all the other things they did in the castle throughout the summer, wouldn't you be in shock as well? And all of the outrageous pranks on Serverus Snape would have been met with high commendations….

I would, however, be remiss in my story telling if I did not tell you of another summer that took place…

Niamh Chancy received her Hogwarts letter just days after her eleventh birthday. The pretty barn owl that'd delivered her letter flew away before she could thank it, or give it a bit of food to eat- but Niamh was far too enchanted and ecstatic about her letter that she quite forgot about it. 

"Mum- Da- my letter, I've finally got it!"

"Well, let's see it, then," said Eileen Chancy, Niamh's mother. 

Niamh tore the envelope open and proudly thrust the parchment at her mother. Then her father walked in. 

            "Da- my Hogwarts letter just came!" she exclaimed excitedly. 

            Diarmaid smiled at his daughter and tousled her curly black hair. "That's brilliant, love!" he exclaimed. Diarmaid had never attended Hogwarts, but had gone to Beauxbatons instead. Eileen, her mother had gone to Hogwarts, though and she read the girl's letter with a happy smile of nostalgia. Those had indeed been happy times. 

            "Hmm," she mused, "Dumbledore's still headmaster there- McGonagall's still deputy," Eileen tucked a curl of copper hair behind her ear and smiled fondly at the memories of her teachers. 

            Niamh's curiosity, of course, was only stoked by these exclamations. "Who else teaches there Mum?" she asked, quite literally bouncing up and down with excitement. Eileen sat down on one of the stools in the kitchen and absently sipped her coffee. 

            "Let's see," she began, "there was Professor McGonagall- she teaches transfiguration. Professor Sprout- she's the herbology teacher. You're going to love herbology Ni- you wouldn't believe the kinds of plants that woman keeps. There's Professor Binns- bit of a windbag, he is- teaches magical history but you'd never know he was telling you anything useful- who else?" she asked herself as she took another sip of her coffee. "Ah yes. Professor Snape. He was new when I went to Hogwarts but I imagine he'll still be there-"

            "Watch out for that one Ni-" warned her father. "Even I've heard my share of horror stories about that one. He's unfair and sarcastic as hell- bloody brilliant, though. Heard once that he's memorized nearly every potion invented." 

Niamh thought about that in wonder. Every potion. It boggled the mind. 

            Eileen smiled. "He was rather frightening come to think of it," she agreed with Diarmaid. "Now- where was I? Ah yes- there's Professor Trelawney. She's a bit of an old fraud, really- but she does the best she can. She teaches divination. Flitwick is the charms teacher- dear little man, really. You'll get on well with him Niamh. There are a few others that I can't remember of that you won't have until third or fourth year- and some of the positions have likely changed-"

            "Defence against the dark arts?" said Diarmaid humorously. "I've heard the rumours about that one."

            "Oh stop," laughed Eileen, but she remembered how it was. Different one every year. It seemed that's the way the position went. "Anyways- have I forgotten anyone, I wonder?" Eileen puzzled for a moment longer. "Right!" she exclaimed. "Almost forgot. There's Madame Hooch. She teaches flying, Quidditch, that sort of thing."  Niamh's eyes lit up. _Flying? _"She's a little rough around the edges," continued Eileen with a smile at her daughter's exuberance, " but as I've heard it, her bark's worse than her bite. Supposed to be a real ace at flying. You'll likely get on well with her too, seeing as how you love to fly so much."

            "Bazzin'!" exclaimed Niamh excitedly. 

Eileen could only sigh. Her daughter was at the age when any crazy slang would slip itself into her vocabulary. "Well- we'll have to got to Diagon Alley and get your supplies then. You need so much- robes, dress robes, your wand- all the books-" Eileen laughed in mock horror, "and so forth."

            "Can we go tomorrow Mum?" Niamh suddenly begged. The prospect of new dress robes gleamed brightly in her mind. 

            "Why not?" said her father jubilantly. "We'll make a day of it and then we can take the portkey to Hogsmead. It's been ages since I've been there."

Niamh nodded vigorously. 

            "Right, then," said Eileen, decisively smacking her hand down on the counter. "Tomorrow."

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The next day, early in the morning a very bleary eyed Chancy family took the floo network to Diagon Alley. 

The first stop was Ollivander's- Niamh was keen to get her wand. The three walked into the musty shop that was lined with shelves and shelves of wands, all stored in slim, rectangular boxes. The only window allowed a very slim shaft of light to penetrate the dim room, and even then all it really served to do was illuminate the thick dust that floated through the air.  

Eileen looked for Mr. Ollivander, but no one seemed to be around. Niamh, who'd curiously been examining a display of very expensive looking wands suddenly felt eyes upon her. She whirled around, her robes twisting around her, and as though he'd appeared out of thin air, there stood Mr. Ollivander in all his crotchety glory.

"First wand?" he asked cryptically, scratching his scraggly beard as he peered at her through smudged-up spectacles. 

            "Y-yes," stammered  Niamh. The old man was making her terribly uneasy. 

            "Ah- I've got just the thing," he said as he walked over to a shelf and gingerly slid one of the narrow boxes off of the shelf and removed the wand contained inside. "Bloodwood-" he began, but when Niamh began to sputter at the name, he explained it more fully. "It's a kind of rosewood, native to Brazil. Brosimum Paraense if you want to get technical about it. It's a good sturdy wood, won't snap on you."

            "Oh," said Niamh. "Right."

            "Feather of a Gryphon, 12 inches." continued Mr. Ollivander. He handed Niamh the wand. 

Niamh held the piece of wood delicately. It was thin and like it's name, blood-red and satiny to the touch. Deep grains ran through it and it shone, even in the dim light of the shop. 

            "Well- give it a go," said Mr. Ollivander expectantly. 

Niamh waved the wand around experimentally. Very suddenly, a golden sort of aura shone around Niamh and a numinous breeze floated her dark hair around her head in a shadowy nimbus. 

            Mr. Ollivander smiled. "Niamh Chancy, meet your new wand."

Niamh ginned. 

After several slightly less exciting hours of picking up school supplies, time came for a set of brand new dress robes. Niamh could barely contain herself and she flitted around her mother like a giddy little moth. 

            "Mum, Mum are we going now?"

            Eileen sighed theatrically and shot a withering glance at her husband, who was choking on some joke only he seemed to be getting. "Yes love, we're going, we're going."

Diarmaid, meanwhile decided to forgo the entire 'dress' experience and instead meandered down the cobbled street towards Gringotts. This Hogwarts business was bloody expensive. 

Much later- at least it seemed that way to Diarmaid, this shopping deal was not his fancy- the small family made it's way to Hogsmead by way of the public portkey just outside the main entrance to Diagon Alley. Niamh, even though she'd grown up in the wizarding world was not accustomed to this means of travel and the feeling that all her guts were going to be jerked out through her belly button was categorically unpleasant. 

Niamh quickly recovered, however, when she noticed the shop-lined streets and quaint setting. She did, after all, have birthday money that needed spending. Many shops drew Niamh to them, but the one with the strongest, most magnetic pull was of course, the shop that sold the broomsticks. Niamh ran to the shop and her face was promptly glued to the window. 

Eileen started to protest, but Diarmaid could only laugh at his daughter who shared his affinity for flying. "It's her galleons dear- might as well let her spend them on something she'll use and be able to keep than on some useless rubbish that'll sit in her room gathering dust, eh?"

Eileen laughed then and followed her ecstatic daughter into the shop. 

Only ten minutes later, Niamh emerged from the shop with a broomstick shaped package that contained the newest version of the _Firebolt_-  the _Spark__ 390__. _She clutched her precious packaged tightly to her chest as she and her parents headed slowly towards the Three Broomsticks for much needed rest. They had, after all, been running around the entire day- and burdened as they were with cauldrons, books, robes and the like- even with the hover-charms, all the walking took a bit of doing. 

The small family walked into the Three Broomsticks and were immediately greeted by the cheery woman who ran the pub, Madame Rosemerta. She was a small, lushly built woman with dark hair, even darker eyes and a teasing smile. No one had any idea how old she was- if she even aged at all- and her presence had become a sort of trademark of the Three Broomsticks. 

"Diarmaid- Eileen- it's been _ages_, how are you?" said the woman brightly as she approached the three, winking roguishly at Eileen as she smooched Diarmaid on the cheek. Eileen could only laugh as she embraced Rosemerta. 

"All to true," she exclaimed as she released the woman. "I've not been to Hogsmead for a good five years or more- and we came today because Diarmaid talked us into it. Niamh was just getting her school supplies in Diagon Alley, you see, and we thought we'd take the portkey here for a visit."

"Well," said Madame Rosemerta brightly, "I'm glad you did. Have a seat and tell me what I can get for the three of you."

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"Diarmaid-Eileen- it's been _ages_…" came the cheery sound of Madame Rosemerta's voice from across the heavily populated tavern. 

Of the three Hogwarts witches that sat sipping their own drinks on the opposite side of the pub, Padraigin Hooch was the first to choke on hers. Madame Pomfrey, ever the medic was quickly patting the woman on the back. Minerva McGonagall glanced quickly over to where Madame Rosemerta stood and saw the trio that stood there. A striking woman of average height with fiery hair stood beside a tall, dark man with laughing eyes. Hiding behind her mother was a small girl with curly black hair. She peered out with shining amber eyes that glowed for all the world like tiny beacons- McGonagall, even with her less- than-perfect eyesight could not miss them. 

Quickly, she turned to Madame Hooch to be greeted by an identical gaze. "I expect that's your granddaughter Padraigin."

Madame Pomfrey looked over to the new arrivals in the pub. "Forget her granddaughter Minny- it's her _son_." Pomfrey turned back to Madame Hooch. "What do you want to do?"  she asked sympathetically. 

Padraigin smiled wanly. "Is this a question of what I _want_ to do, or what I think I _should_ do- because what I want to do is apparate the hell out of here before Eileen comes over to say hello to you lot and then I have to deal with- Good God!" Padraigin fought the urge to dive headfirst under the table and instead settled for pulling her hat down over her head as far as it would go- Eileen Chancy was coming their way, and consequently, so was the rest of her family.  

"Hello Professor McGonagall," said Eileen cheerfully as she approached the table at which the three witches sat. 

"Hello Eileen- its grand to see you- though please, call me Minerva. That 'Professor McGonagall' business coming from you all grown up as you are makes me feel ridiculously old." replied McGonagall as she stood and embraced her former student. "Sit down with us, please."

A small squeak of terror came from the general direction of Madame Hooch and Madame Pomfrey looked pointedly at Minerva- but the damage was already done. 

"Yes, alright," said Eileen. "Diarmaid, dear- over hear, " she called to her husband as she pulled some chairs over to the table and tried to get her daughter to stop hiding behind her back. "Niamh, dear- I want you to meet Professor _Minerva_ McGonagall. She was my head of house when I was in Gryffindor and also my teacher for Transfiguration." Eileen gently pushed her daughter forwards and the girl took Minerva's extended hand and looked at her shyly with those hawk eyes that were so disconcertingly familiar because of Madame Hooch. 

"Hello Professor McGonagall, I'm pleased to meet you," said Niamh politely as she dutifully shook the woman's hand. Minerva smiled as the child looked curiously towards the other two witches. 

"And I you Niamh," Minerva replied simply. 

Eileen then moved her daughter around the table to Madame Pomfrey. "And this," she said, giving the nurse a hug, "is Madame Pomfrey. She runs the hospital wing." 

Madame Pomfrey smiled. "How's that arm holding up, Eileen?"

Eileen- surprisingly- blushed furiously- which on someone with red hair tends to turn one's entire head red. Diarmaid, who'd said nothing so far, laughed. "What's this, love?" he asked teasingly. 

Eileen glared at him. "As I recall- I only broke it three times. There's nothing to laugh about." Diarmaid nodded knowingly and continued to stay in the background, smiling

innocently.  Eileen continued her introduction. "The arm's just fine- thanks to you Madame Pomfrey." 

            Niamh was again pushed forwards and again took the hand offered her, politely introducing herself and stating her pleasure at meeting this new face. 

Eileen then approached Madame Hooch, who was so hidden under her hat she could've been You-Know-Who for all anyone knew. 

            "And this," said Eileen as she approached Padraigin, "well- I'm not quite sure who this is." Smiling roguishly, she caught the pointed tip of Madame Hooch's hat between her fingers and pulled smartly up, revealing the woman's face. "Ah- Madame Hooch," she laughed, hugging her former flying teacher. Niamh perked up at the mention of the woman's name- this woman who was to be her flying teacher. 

The girl's sudden brightening was not lost on Minerva or Madame Pomfrey. Madame Hooch might've seen it if she'd not been so concerned in trying to remember the spell for making one's self invisible. 

            Niamh stepped forward of her own accord this time and took the woman's hand. "You- you're going to teach me flying, right?" she said, looking into the woman's yellow eyes- which we rather like her own, if that wasn't odd. 

Madame Hooch looked back at the child- the same feature catching her attention as well. "I am, yes," said Padraigin with much more courage than she felt. "Do you like to fly?"

Niamh nodded vigorously and produced her broomstick. "I've been saving up for this for about a billion years," she said excitedly. "I know first years aren't allowed to have their own brooms- but now I can practice with it on holidays and if I ever make it to the Quidditch team, I'll have my own. I've been borrowing a broom from my neighbour, Mrs. Filtobre- but now-" Niamh smiled brightly, trailing off in her fervour. "I can't _wait_ for flying lessons," she stated happily. 

Madame Hooch smiled at the girl- she couldn't help it. 

Several butterbeers later the small family decided it was time to go home. Niamh was falling asleep in her chair between her mother and Madame Hooch and the pub was starting to fill with people wanting supper. 

Madame Hooch was not sorry to see the family leave them- the child was a pretty little thing and had an adorable, bubbly personality- Eileen was a wonderful woman with a wicked wit and she was, of course, a former student- but Diarmaid. Well. He made Padraigin Hooch feel sick with guilt and jealously. He'd obviously had a wonderful life so far, and Padraigin was glad of that but- she'd missed out on all of it, and she was beginning to wonder if perhaps she'd done the right thing giving him away like that. 

It was with a heavy heart and conscience that night that Padraigin went to bed, thinking that perhaps this girl, this little Niamh that had her eyes might be her second chance. It was a wonder that Eileen or Diarmaid hadn't noticed the striking similarity between Padraigin and their child- but some part of Padraigin wished they had. Wished they'd said something and then she could've said- 'well, that's because I'm her grandmother' and then all of the secrecy and guilt would have been lifted from her. But that was an ideal fantasy, and one that Padraigin was sure would not be granted her. She'd just have to wait until Niamh began attending Hogwarts, and see what happened from there. 

She was supposed to be fearless- she told herself. So why was she so afraid? 


End file.
